A new era begins. Bonds that were broken, reforged. Trust, rekindled. Past sins, forgiven.
The New Avengers congregate in the boardroom around the long, rectangular table parked in the middle of the space. Summer morning streams through the lightwell, as friendly chatter subside when Steve Rogers take his place at the head of the table. Everyone assembles at the unspoken call, staid and quickly, save for Tony Stark – owner of the joint, and the only unsmiling person around. He hangs back by the door, and watches other superheroes file forward to eventually block his line of sight of Steve at the front. No matter, he already knows what Steve is about to say in the next five minutes.
He stands his ground, until that blonde head peeks out, obviously in search of someone. Something inside Tony burns and he smiles wanly when Steve locks eyes with him, all the way from across the room. Steve doesn't call his name.
But, Tony heeds it all the same.
The spot directly on Steve's right is left suspiciously vacant on purpose. Tony can't… he hasn't earned his place.
In hindsight, he should've brought his helmet along.
"All right, Avengers." Steve braces the corners of the table and draws himself to full height. Regal and commanding in his stead, Tony chuckles under his breath, and keeps his chin up to pay attention to the words of his Commander. The lump in his throat hasn't gone away, but this? He's been looking forward to this.
"You will be the face of a new era. And I will tell you why I picked you. For your nobility and strength." For what is worth, Thor stands as proudly as he ever was, flawless, and not a single mar on his Asgardian armour. He doesn't look upon Tony as kindly as Steve does, but a warmish depth in his keen eyes settle upon Tony regardless.
And Tony can't bear the weight of the look. He averts his gaze, and good thinking, too – there's a small tear in Steve's boot that requires mending. He can fix that in a jiffy. A little dollop of experimental putty would do the trick. Nasty thing can hold up pretty well under high pressure and temperature, and it's waterproof…
Tony feels a chill settling on his nape and looks up again. Steve has been watching him curiously.
"And a clear view of the future."
OK, he's done with the bullshit. This is insane – and he's the one who's erased his brain!
"Steve, can I talk to you for a second?"
There's never a worse timing to initiate a one-on-one facetime with Captain America. The inside of his suit feels warmer than usual, colours probably rising to his cheeks as every single head in the vicinity turn to him. Tony Stark, the party pooper. His tale will be told for decades!
A crystal glass chimes as Jarvis knocks his teaspoon against its side. "Ladies and gentlemen, food has been served."
Tony would've kissed Jarvis there and then. Chatter volume rises, and tension eases as people go where the promised food is, with Logan sniffing and leading the way. Tony stays where he is, and Steve waits with him, exuding the same quality of patience an old friend would afford, that reminds him of how lucky and equally undeserving he is of this.
"What's wrong?" Steve asks softly, despite the absence of other Avengers.
"I don't have to be on your team here."
"Of course you don't have to. But it's the Avengers! I thought you'd want to."
"… I'm talking about you and me."
Steve's shoulders sag somewhat. "I know."
"We don't agree on just about anything anymore."
"That's not entirely true."
"See? We don't even agree about that."
Someone knocks on the door, so Tony holds his tongue and breaks his gaze. He's made a promise to not screw this up further for either of them. And that means not making this more difficult to process than it already is. He knows this has kept Steve up at night. He saw Steve paying tribute to the Avengers portrait in the foyer one night, just staring at it in silence. It was three in the morning.
"Sirs," Jarvis addresses them as he pushes the door wider. "The guests are wondering about your whereabouts. You should be out there in their company." His grey eyes wander to Tony's. "Mingle."
A flicker of movement tells Tony Steve is about to grab him by the elbow – like old times – and steer him out of the door. But, the suit doesn't register any pressure, and he notes that Steve has kept both hands firmly by his sides.
Steve can't even bear to touch him.
They exit the boardroom, shoulder to shoulder, and Tony wishes somebody would put a bullet to his head as he emerges. Or run a set of adamantium claws cleanly through his torso, or shoot laser beams up his ass – any of those is better than having to face the heat of some twenty pairs of eyes on him.
Steve waves at everyone and gestures for them to continue stuffing their face with cakes.
"When I look at you…" Tony really wishes he can jam his scowling helmet over his head. Any moment now. "All I see are the mistakes, and all the –"
"Tony –"
"I'm not saying it's going to be that way forever. I can do something else."
"I want you on this team. This is your house!"
"… We'll kill each other." Again, is implied.
"No, we'll be fine." And Steve can keep telling himself that. Didn't work last time he tried. "I'm not running the team."
That, shocked Tony enough that the lump in throat magically vanishes. "You're not?"
"I have an entire country to worry about."
"Who's going to run the team?"
Steve's smile grows wider. "Best person for the job."
"… Me?"
Steve laughs a little louder. "No. Ha, no." He points his thumb at the buffet spread. "Her."
How he missed her in the group is a mystery. He must've taken his grieving too far… but it has been a while since they last saw each other. Tony is certainly digging her new haircut. "Maria Hill, reporting for duty." At least she's not staring daggers at him anymore, for reasons she – and Pepper – have yet to clarify.
"I'm very OK with that."
"And as far as you and me are concerned…" Steve lifts his right arm – palm open – a disarming smile tugging on his lips. Gloved fingers curl into a fist, and Tony freezes. His body remembers, somehow. "Let's just try not to kill each other." Steve fist bumps his chest plate, applying the barest pressure that the suit registers and conveys to his body within the titanium gold case.
A nudge right over his heart.
"We'll be fine," Steve repeats. Tony thinks he's beginning to believe in it, too.